This year,
solemn and weary,
the days
deter from
deciding quickly to
become
the things we
want
them to be.
They
linger,
and force
us
to watch
in disbelief
in
their ability to love
without
knowing
all
of
the facts.
See,
if only
for one night,
we
can
become like the
solemn
days,
then we’ll
just be right
where
we
belong.

An afternoon
just gave
way
to a quiet
evening, nestled
in
between
a few
jazz notes,
that
have
decided
to
linger around
like
an
indecisive
autumn
fall
leaf.
Our afternoon
just
landed in
our
laps,
and we get to
dictate
to
the
sun how she
plans
to
groove
into
the sky.
She delicate
that
way.
See,
this afternoon
just
got better,
and
we got
better
just
by
standing
in
the way.

We’re
latching on,
tightly
like vice grips
too
weak
to
let go,
and
as our moment
shifts
to and fro,
I’m
more infamous
than yesterday
because
I get
to
latch on to
your
hips,
as
they sway back
and
forth
like wind turbines
feeling
the
temptress
of
the wind’s
fingertips.
See,
we get to
seriously
latch
on,
and the
worries that drift
will
need
to hold in
space
while
we
find our
place
inside of these

See,
we don’t always make
the
room,
the
childish divides, or
collisions we
intend
to spread in place
to
understand
all
the things that
matter.
We
stumble forward,
into
the looseness
of
the wind,
fearless, and without
the frailties
of yesteryear.
If we’re
so
fortunate,
we
get to simply
become
all
of the things
we’ve
desired
for so
long,
and like most
things
that fall
inward,
we are
just
there,
admiring our steps
as
they
were meant
to
be the entire
time.

Let’s
go under the
water,
where our gravity
defies
itself,
like a willow tree
does
on
a loose
day;
a loose day
filled
to
the rim with
our
love right?
Our love
that
dives deeper
into itself,
like
we did on
our
first kiss,
when you left
me
with sweaty hands,
and
a
beating heart.

We
just need a
little more room,
a
bit of space
in between
the
dust, like
the
time you left
me
standing
with open arms,
and
a fierce attitude.
I’m just saying,
we
just need
a bit more room,
a
freedom of sorts,
and
a moment to capture
the
wind
like Hercules did
when
the
daylight
started to
linger too long.
See,
we just started this
thing,
and our room
just
got smaller,
and warm
to the touch;
so, let’s move
even closer,
before
Mother
time
decides to take
back
her
wisdom from this
moment.

We’re
just a touch
away
from falling into
the
leaves,
as they marry
their
shades and color
choices,
and while
they
decide which day
to
land
so delicately to
the ground,
we’re like
a ballad,
loose
to the touch,
and full
of the
most sultry
of notes.
Like a
smoky jazz
quartet,
we’re
just a touch
away
from
our
final bar,
and
my love for
you
just
touched yours
without
asking for permission.